


Maury Wars

by MahinaIRL



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Biggs is Best Friend, Crack Treated Seriously, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hugs, If you know what crafty is, Luke is a Bean, Luke is a cinnamon roll, Luke is a himbo, Obi-Wan steals crafty, One-sided Biggs/Luke, Reality TV, Skywalker Family Drama (Star Wars), Tales of a former G&E
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahinaIRL/pseuds/MahinaIRL
Summary: Someone decided it would be a great idea to put Luke up for a daytime TV paternity test. Someone else decided it would be a great idea to surprise Darth Vader in front of a live studio audience. Things catch on fire and Obi-Wan weaponizes bagels.Welcome to Maury Wars.
Relationships: Biggs Darklighter & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 37
Kudos: 99
Collections: 2020 Star Wars Luke & Vader Winter Exchange





	1. Darth Vader

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IrisBagginsGrayson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisBagginsGrayson/gifts).



> For my Luke & Vader holiday match, IrisBaggins! I hope you enjoy this read. I tried to hit as many of your prompts and L&V tropes as I could fit: stay tuned to this channel for hugs, first meetings, and Skywalker family drama~
> 
> (The prompts are "What you just asked for is impossible," "Am I scaring you?" and "I won't leave you" for scavenger hunt fans ;S )

Darth Vader paced in a soundproof green room behind the stage of The Maury Wars Show, scowling occasionally at the fake brick facade. He was. Not. Happy. In his memory, the Emperor’s grimy-toothed leer played on repeat.

 _“You’ve been slipping my old friend,” the Emperor drawled, indolently playing with a wine glass as he slouched on his sinister swivel throne. ‘If you can’t kill some half-trained padawan on Lothal and his would-be apprentice, maybe I should give you a mission you_ can _complete.”_

_Vader knew he should not talk back, but even after fifteen years of servitude his mouth still got ahead of him sometimes, “The Grand Inquisitor failed. It is not my fault he was weak.”_

_The Emperor threw his wineglass at Vader’s feet, where it shattered. “And I left_ you _to manage the Grand Inquisitor,” he shouted in a rage, “therefore his death is also your fault. Go on! Say something else witless!”_

_Vader was silent._

_The Emperor calmed down. He floated over a new glass of wine from the waiting hands of a red guardsman. “Starting tomorrow you’re at the disposal of COMPNOR. Yes Vader, you’re going to be doing_ public relations _for the next two weeks. I can feel your anger and I find it delightful. Do whatever they say, and try not to leave too many bodies behind you, hmmmm?”_

Vader’s failed attempt at darkside meditation was interrupted as the door suddenly slid open. A quaking production assistant stood at the threshold. The young Zeltron woman cleared her throat. “We’re ready for you, my lord.”

“Finally.” Vader huffed, striding past the underling. “Let us get the circus done with.”

“Wait! My lord!” The PA cried and ran to keep up.

Vader turned a corner and was stopped by a palm to his face at the threshold of the set. A balding Pantoran with a blinking headset and eyes glued to a datapad said, bored, “Mic check?”

“I...one second!” The huffing PA began pawing at Vader’s belt, then patted down his suit until she reached the annoying little microphone they’d attached to his collar plate upon his arrival. “Check!”

The Pantoran looked up. Their eyes caught on Vader’s belt. “Is that a _lightsaber?_ Oh my. We’re going to have to ask you to leave that with us.”

“No.” Vader refused flatly. 

The Pantoran tapped their headset, distracted. “I’m afraid it’s standard policy. No weapons on set.”

Vader put a hand on his lightsaber preemptively. “What you are asking for is impossible.”

“Honored guest, it’s not a request. There’s been _incidents._ Sherri, take the weapon from our guest please. Now. He’s on in five...four...”

“Umm.” The shaking Zeltron PA reached for Vader’s belt. Vader snapped his mental fingers around her throat, but was struck by another sudden flashback of the Emperor’s voice.

_‘I don’t care Vader, you will comply with COMPNOR. A Maury Show? What’s that? Just don’t kill anyone on live holofeed. Or backstage. Nothing messy that leaves witnesses.’_

“Three...two…” the Pantoran droned.

Vader unclipped his lightsaber and shoved it at the PA. He stormed past the drivelling fools and into the dazzling hot light.

“One, go!” The Pantoran stage manager called belatedly behind him. 

Vader’s red optics whirred as they filtered out the excruciating glare and adjusted to the new setting. There were two boys sitting on the stage, one with dark hair and one with pale hair. For some reason, Senator Pooja Nabberie was sitting in the chair closest to Vader, looking aghast with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. Vader glanced up, and saw Padme’s picture on a screen behind a thin bespectacled man suffering the pinched skin of too much cosmetic surgery. Maury.

Vader’s ire rose. He brought his finger up to point with a warning growl. “What is the -”

“Luke Lars, meet your _real_ biological father...the supreme commander of the Empire...Darth Vader!” The man exclaimed dramatically, waving a manila envelope and a piece of flimsi.

Pooja Nabberie shot to her feet as the audience exploded with a roar of surprise.

Darth Vader took a step back. “...What?”

The screen behind Maury changed. Padme’s picture slid over to make room for a split screen with a live closeup of Vader’s reaction.

“Congratulations, Darth Vader.” Maury’s spectacles glinted under the stage lights. “You _are_ the father!”

Vader’s mind went blank. Improbably, the first thought that formed was, ‘which one? There are two of them up there.’

Obviously it was the boy with light hair. Now that the words were said, the Force practically sang the truth back to Vader along with the thunderous audience applause. The boy with light hair had a glow that could not be faked.

“But how…” Vader trailed off. Another Force signature in the room caught his attention.

“We would love to know the same thing!” said Maury, pointing to the empty chair between Pooja and the pale-haired boy. “Please, come take a seat.”

“YOU!” Vader roared and whirled to face the Force signature behind the glaring stage lights instead. “ _Kenobi!_ ”

A man in a brown cloak crouching on a catwalk above the live studio audience stood up. He pulled out his lightsaber and ignited it, blue light revealing wispy white hair and a trim beard under his oversized hood. 

“Yes, _me_!” The man agreed. He leaped and landed on the seat below him as bystanders screamed and dove to the side. “The boy will never be yours, Darth!”

Vader reached for his own lightsaber and cursed when his fingers brushed empty air. He would ensure that that damn PA and her supervisor were dead by the end of the day. 

Kenobi charged the stage. Vader levitated the empty chair next to his son and hurled it at Kenobi with the Force. Kenobi sliced it in two, and Vader followed with another chair ripped from behind Pooja Naberrie’s fleeing feet. Kenobi sent it hurling back and it shattered against a holoscreen still tracking Vader in closeup.

“Ah, we will be right back...after a quick break!” Maury shouted into a camera, supported on one shoulder by Luke Lars’ friend as they ran for cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A “green room” is where “talent” (aka, actors or program guests) rest when not performing on set or stage.


	2. Biggs Darklighter

“If my dad were still here, I know  _ he’d _ have let me go to the Academy.” Luke Skywalker sighed dramatically.

Biggs Darklighter sized up his best friend sceptically. They were sitting on the hood of Biggs’ latest landspeeder, keeping cool in the shade of some rocks on the far side of Tochi Station. Legend said there was a wishing spring buried deep beneath the rubble, but all that Biggs and Luke ever found was a handy hideaway to dodge adults and the drudgery of farm chores.

Biggs pulled out another candied milkvine from the package and twiddled with it, letting it hang from his lips like a cigarra. He thought it made him look dangerous and dashing, like a proper hotshot pilot. “Dude. You think your spice runner dad would let you go to an Imperial Academy?”

Luke pursed his lips. “He wasn’t a spice  _ runner _ , he was a navigator on a freighter.”

“A  _ spice _ freighter.”

“Well, yeah but…”

“Still a smuggler, dude.” 

“Ugh. Whatever, forget it.” Luke reached over and stole one of Biggs’ candy milkvines. He jabbed the stick in the air like a weapon. “The point is,  _ real  _ parents help their kids follow their dreams. Uncles treat them like farmhands who owe interest on room and board.”

“I don’t think that’s how Owen and Beru see you.”

“Really? Think about it. They chose to be ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ and not ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. I’m only ‘Luke Lars’ when it’s convenient or the Imps come around.” Luke bit down on his candy unhappily.

There wasn’t much for Biggs to retort to that. It was clear to him that at least Auntie Beru loved her nephew. As for Owen, a good agro droid would be cheaper and less dramatic than keeping Luke Lars/Skywalker on the farm, but that was probably not what his friend wanted to hear.

“Don’t sweat it Luke,” Biggs said sagely instead. “If your uncle has a good harvest, I’m sure he’ll let you apply next year. You’ll only be one year behind me.”

“I’m always behind you.” Luke grumbled. The two boys lapsed into silence, staring at the sand and occasionally passing the snack box and a dented canteen of water.

“What about your mom?” Biggs said suddenly.

Luke looked over, confused. “What  _ about _ my mom?”

Biggs shrugged. “You’re always on about, ‘my dad Anakin this’ and ‘my dad Anakin that.’ Don’t you ever wonder about your mom too?”

Luke seemed surprised, then genuinely contemplative. “Uh. Well. I dunno. Sometimes. I guess. It’s just harder to picture because I know exactly nothing about her. My aunt and uncle only met her once, you know. And they’re not even sure if the woman they met was my mom. My dad might have knocked up a stripper on Munt Ontdal station for all I know.”

Biggs scoffed. “You’re aiming too low my friend. Munt Ontdal? Seriously? Show some imagination. If I had free reign to make up stories about my birth mother, I’d go a little more exciting. How about a galactic pop idol, or queen of an exotic vacation planet? 

Luke snorted. “I only look like a daydreamer. Freed slaves don’t meet queens let alone make babies with them.” 

“Mmm, making babies.” Biggs waggled his brows suggestively.

“Ugh!” Luke rolled his eyes and bumped Biggs playfully. “What are you, five? You know what I mean. We’re probably all outer rim trash in their eyes.”

Biggs bit his lip. Luke was really cute when his ears were blushing. Biggs laid back and stretched out a hand wistfully. “Hey. I’ve certainly imagined I was switched at birth once or twice. I’m not the ‘Darklighter heir,’ and somewhere out there my real mom...who may or may not look like Briona Nightnova from ‘Cataclysm Prism 4’...is waiting to whisk me away with her stylist to make me the next galactic superstar. Teens across the universe see me on the holonet and fall in love with my luscious, full mustache.”

Luke laughed and poked Biggs in the belly, forcing him to stop stroking his imaginary facial hair and sit up.

“Yeah right,” Luke cackled. “I remember the 5th grade Anchorhead musical. If you were switched at birth you definitely aren’t  _ Briona Nightnova’s _ kid. Also what are you talking about anyway? Your mom’s great. She lets you do practically whatever you want. Aunt Beru is always nagging me.”

Biggs shrugged a little too casually. “Yup. Mom of the century. At least she has a billion agro droids to run her moisture empire, so she won’t notice if I’ve been missing for two hours and the north quadrant vaporators haven’t been fixed.”

“Oh, shavit!” Luke grabbed Biggs’ wrist and checked his chronometer. The younger boy leapt off the speeder hood and onto his feet. “Thanks for the pity snack, Biggs. Better take me back. I gotta get that done before sundown.”

Biggs slid off the hood and walked to the driver-side door. He barely twisted the handle when Luke tossed up his arms, crying in alarm.

“Wait wait! We gotta make our wishes!” Luke reminded. 

Biggs clucked his tongue. “Now who is a five year old?”

Luke brushed back his shaggy blond bangs. “Hey, I need all the wish power I can get right now if I’m ever gonna leave this rock.”

“Fine. For old time’s sake.” Biggs closed the door and joined Luke by the rocks. “This is going to get my boots filthy.”

“Ooooh, dirty boots, how terrible.” Luke teased as he started climbing. Like generations of Anchorhead kids before them, they’d never found a real spring, but lore held that if you shouted into the crevasse partway up the cliff face, your words would carry to the spring spirit and your wish could still be granted. 

Biggs shook out his rich boy hands, wishing he was wearing protective wrist and palm wraps like Luke, and hauled himself after the wiry blond. 

“Son of a bantha.” Biggs grumbled every time the sharp rocks dug into his palms. Fortunately the ledge wasn’t as high as he remembered when he was a kid. Luke was perched and waiting. Biggs ignored his slender friend’s outstretched hand and scooted his way onto the ledge, trying to find a geometry that allowed them both to sit.

“Move over!” Biggs whined as he shoved Luke gently. Their shoulders crammed up edge to edge to hold steady, and Biggs’ breath hitched as Luke swung his leg to rest over Biggs’ thigh. 

“I think we’re a little too big for this.” Biggs observed, looking at their crossed legs and...other things.

“Psh.  _ You’re  _ too big. I don’t think I’ve put on any height since I was twelve.” Luke retorted acerbically. And obliviously.

Biggs sighed, but secretly he was a little happy, pressed close to Luke like this. He hoped Luke stayed an innocent sunshine soul forever.

“Hey spring spirit! I want to go to the academy next year with Biiiiiigggsss! Friends foreveeerrrr!” Luke yelled into the crevasse, grinning. A faint echo warbled back from the shadows.

Biggs took a deep breath. “Spring spirit! Make me the best pilot in the galaxy!”

“Biggs wants to be famooooussss! And bag space ladieeees!”

“Oh shut up. A SPACE BOY IS FINE TOO!”

Luke looked at Biggs, surprised. “Wait, really?” Biggs avoided Luke’s bright blue-eyed gaze. Luke broke the tension as he leaned into the crevasse and shouted, “NEVERMIND! Sorry!! Send Biggs a really cute space  _ boyyyyyyy!” _

Biggs looked heavenward and sighed in his heart. He scooted back and shifted to get off the ledge. “Come on, let’s go.”

Luke grabbed Biggs’ sleeve and pulled him back. “Wait, one more. Spring spirit! I wish to find out my mom’s name someday!”

Biggs raised his eyebrows. Luke turned to Biggs innocently, face too close and breath hot on Biggs’ cheek. “What? Now that you mentioned it, I’m going to be thinking about it all day.”

Biggs swatted Luke away. He untangled their legs and shimmied off the ledge, annoyed. Luke peered down at his retreating head.

“What??” Luke called piteously, confused.

Biggs sighed again in his heart.

* * *

Biggs wandered into his family home in the mid-afternoon. The cool blast of air conditioning was a balm as he walked behind his mother sitting on the couch. There was a stack of flimsi business reports on a small table to the side, but at the moment Yuma Darklighter had her feet kicked up on an ottoman and was nursing two fingers of Corellian brandy while watching a daytime talk show on the holo.

“There you are,” Yuma called, catching sight of her son from the corner of her eye. “Lunch is in the conservator.”

Biggs slowed down and detoured to the couch. He gave his mom a kiss on the top of her dark curls. “It’s past lunch.”

“Oh. Well. You can program an early dinner in the synthesizer if you’re hungry darkling.”

Biggs looked at the holo. An old Rodian couple were screaming at their teenage son and his new wife, who turned out to be a catfishing BD-3000 secretary droid. Scandalous. “That show’s poodoo, mom. Why are you always watching it?”

Yuma Darklighter shrugged, dangerously tipping her tumbler. “It’s Maury Wars.” She replied, as if that were enough of an answer.

Biggs tapped the back of the couch. “Mmhmmm. I’m going downstairs.”

“Okay darkling.” Yuma answered absently. “See you in a bit.”

Biggs shook his head ruefully. He quietly picked up the liquor bottle and stashed it back in the wet bar. He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of blue milk, which he left by his mom’s flimsi stack before heading to his room. As he shuffled down the stairs, a deep-voiced announcer teased the results of a paternity test, to be revealed after the commercial break.

“That sleemo is  _ not  _ the father!” Yuma shouted at the screen. “Tell ‘em girl!”

In his room, Biggs flipped on the lights and sat down at his desk. He spun in his study chair. With school in Anchorhead done and six weeks left before he reported to the Academy, there was not a lot to  _ do. _

Well, except stare at posters of pod racers and try not to think about leaving Luke on this dustball.

_...Luke turned to Biggs innocently, face too close and breath hot on Biggs’ cheek. “What? Now that you mentioned it, I’m going to be thinking about it all day.” _

Biggs slammed his palm down on his chair arm, struck by an idea. He spun to the bulky personal terminal squatting on his desk (a Tatooine luxury) and booted up the holonet.

“Maury. Show. Maternity test. Apply…” He muttered as he typed into the search bar.

This was going to be  _ brilliant. _


	3. Central Casting

_ The boy in the holo swallowed nervously, flicking a curl of sunkissed blond hair out of his face. “Does the red light mean it’s recording?” _

_ “Yes,” said a voice off-camera, “It’s recording.” _

_ The boy looked upset. “Biggs! You’re supposed to warn me!” _

_ “Don’t worry, I’ll edit it later,” ‘Biggs’ reassured the boy. “Just go!” _

_ “Okay okay.” The boy scowled, then forced a grin at the camera. “Hi, my name is Luke Lars. I’m fifteen, and I’m the best bush pilot on all of Tatooine, like my father before me.” _

_ The holo cut to footage from inside the cramped cockpit of a T16 Skyhopper. The boy was flying, while whoever held the camera was wedged in extremely illegally behind the single pilot’s seat. The skyhopper raced through a narrow canyon just a little too close to the ground for it’s operating specs. _

_ “Am I scaring you yet?” The boy asked with a grin as he did a roll. _

_ “No,” the cameraperson replied. _

_ The boy cut a corner and turned the skyhopper around nearly 280 degrees on a hairpin turn. “Am I scaring you yet?” _

_ “No.” _

_ The skyhopper approached a tall stone spire in the middle of the canyon with an eye-catching natural arch on the top. It looked for all the stars like a needle. The craft pitched on its side as it approached at full speed. “Am I - “ _

_ The cameraperson screamed. “Ahhh! Luke! You’re scaring me, you’re scaring me!” _

_ “Hahaha-HA!” Luke laughed maniacally as the skyhopper threaded the needle and shot out of the canyon. _

_ The holo cut back to Luke looking bashful. “My father and my grandmother were slaves in a repair shop. When my father was just a kid like me, he became the first human to ever win the Boonta Eve Classic - that’s uh, that’s one of the most important pod races on the Hutt circuit -- and won his freedom. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of...erm...lawful opportunities for pilots on Tatooine, and so he left home to become a spacer. My family never saw him again, and he died before I was born. We also don’t know who my mother was, exactly.” _

_ The holo cut to footage of Luke looking sad, his hand on a set of tombstones under a setting sun, before cutting back to Luke’s talking headshot. The camera slowly started zooming in on Luke’s watery blue eyes. _

_ “That’s why it’s my dream to go to the Imperial Academy on Prevsbelt IV and become an officer for the Empire. I want to do what my father couldn’t, and become a pilot who helps make the galaxy a better place. I want to make a galaxy where there aren’t any more families like mine, separated by piracy and smuggling and slavery. And also, I hope that if I can leave Tatooine, someday I will find out what happened to my own family...how my father died and who my mother was.  _

_ “Right now, I can’t do any of these things because my aunt and uncle can’t afford to lose my help on the moisture farm.” _

_ Cut to Luke, sweating away doing farmwork. He started to take his shirt off in the sun, then noticed he was being recorded. He shoved a hand at the camera lens and pushed it away. _

_ Returning to Luke’s headshot, the camera was still zooming in. “If I could get a scholarship I could become not just the first freeborn son in my family, but also the first generation of my family to get a full education and go to an off-world school. It would mean so so much to a freeborn kid like me.” _

_ Luke paused. His eyes penetrated deep into the holo. The camera finally stopped zooming in, and Luke shrugged. “That’s all. Thank you.” _

_ The camera rapidly zoomed out. Offscreen, ‘Biggs’ clapped exuberantly. “Bravo, bravo,” the second boy enthused, walking into the shot. “That was perfect. That look at the end was great. Truly, whoever your mom was she must have been amazing to birth such an incredible specimen of human handsomeness into the galaxy.”  _

_ Biggs grabbed Luke’s cheeks and squashed them into a duckface, vamping for the holo. “Who could she be?” He said slowly and deliberately. “It’s an unsolved mystery.” _

_ “Yuck, don’t be goss.” Luke grumbled, swatting Biggs away. “You sure they need to know all that stuff about my parents to give me a scholarship? This is for a scholarship right? I’m really not supposed to talk about my dad to off-worlders or creditors from his spice ring might come for us.” _

_ “Yup, totally necessary for your scholarship application.” Biggs gave an exaggerated wink to the camera and plucked a golden hair from Luke’s head. _

_ “Ow! Why’d you do that?” Luke defensively covered his hair. _

_ “No reason,” Biggs replied evasively. He gave a big double wink at the camera and ran off screen. _

_ “Come back here!” Luke shouted as he gave chase. _

L’Thatcha Yeados paused the holo on the final frame. As a Casting Associate for one of the galaxy’s top rated syndicated talk shows, she’d seen pretty much everything. The kid was cute, but the freeborn-family reunion angle was a yawn to her bitter Nar Shadda-born soul. A good cause near the heart and all that, but it felt more like a sap story for Cosmic Oprah or Interstellar Ellen. Not so much Maury.

“Yes? No. Yes? No.” L’Thatcha murmured to herself, fingers hovered over the command to send the file to trash.

Well hey, it might boost their ratings in the Core. Especially the aspiring cadet angle, very patriotic. She couldn’t shake a good feeling about this one.

“Boop.” L’Thatcha whispered, opening up the submitted DNA data. She fed it through the usual steps to determine general planetary origin. The terminal quickly pinged with the results. Thatcha’s eyebrows climbed a fraction of an inch. Maternal lineage suggested Naboo with 92% confidence. That was unusual. The Naboo didn’t tend to produce spacers.

L’Thatcha quickly cycled through tabs and pulled up the largest Naboo family genealogical database. For a planet so insistent on civil liberties, they were both unusually thorough and unusually open with their family documentation. She loved doing research on Naboo. A few clicks and she had a DNA search ready to run. 

“Shazow,” L’Thatcha muttered as she hit submit. The results quickly populated. The top result was a 3rd degree match with someone from the Naberrie family, followed by a few Thules and an even deeper list of more Naberries. 

Naberries? 

L’Thatcha’s eyebrows climbed another inch.  _ Wow, this just got way more interesting _ , L’Thatcha thought.  _ That’s a famous family. Like,  _ galactically _ famous. _

L’Thatcha played with the dregs of caf in her mug. She knew she shouldn’t, but she just had an itch about this. At this point she ought to hand the info off to a field producer but…

L’Thatcha pulled a code cylinder out from a box in the back of her drawer. Six years in entertainment, twenty years as a high-end code slicer on the mid-levels of Coruscant before a plea bargain and an ISB witness protection program saved her a back alley blaster to the back or some long years in an Imperial labor camp. Hopefully she wasn’t going to blow it all now on a hunch.

“Fwip, zip, shabang, kapow.” L’Thatcha sang softly as she typed away at the terminal. Like a maestro, she delicately cut her way into the Naboo Royal Hospital servers and culled the records for the missing holes in the public database. 

“Fierfek,” L’Thatcha breathed as the new family tree aligned. She ran the DNA a second time just to be sure. The ‘lost’ match was Padmé Naberrie Amidala. 

L’Thatcha pushed back from the terminal and shot to her feet. She paced back and forth in front of her desk three times, rubbing her hands to burn her excess excitement before she sat back down. What a scandal! What a scoop! Amidala was buried pregnant, but somehow her child was actually alive and eking out a living as a farmer in Hutt space, of all places. What the pfassk was the story there?

L’Thatcha paused. This had to go deeper. Amidala was the lost icon of a generation. So who was the father? Surely not some random Tatooine pod jockey. L’Thatcha was literally holding the answer to one of the biggest scandals of the Clone Wars era. 

If L’Thatcha knew when to stop when she had a lead on a secret, she wouldn’t have taken a job with the Maury show.

L’Thatcha returned to the original DNA analysis. Paternal point of origin: unknown. She slipped into Imperial Security’s comprehensive Citizen Database. Nothing in the police records. Nothing under political watchlists. There was a hit on a military record, but it was sealed.

Time to take out the big guns. L’Thatcha returned to her kit and pulled out a burner comm. She punched in a number from memory and waited for it to ring.

“FR333Hacher,” the code-scrambled female voice answered neutrally. “What are you doing contacting me on this line? You better not be back into bad habits.”

“Oh, you know me,” L’Thatcha answered her old ISB handler cheerfully. “FR333Hacher is still dead, but every once in a while duty calls like a goddamn necromancer. This is her ghost speaking. Wooooooo~”

The comm crackled in what might have been a sigh. “What can I do for you? If this is about your WITSEC stipend you can call me at my office number you know.”

“Depends. You up for an easy five grand? I gotta task again.”

“This new job you’ve got has too many tasks for me. It’s almost like you never retired.”

L’Thatcha grinned. “So that’s a yes then. I knew I could count on you, ya corrupt bitch. I need you to open a lock on a high-clearance military file. I’m transmitting the ID code now.”

“Military records aren’t ISB. That’s Imperial Intelligence.”

“Don’t take me for a  _ beesga _ . When have you ISB heroes missed a chance to skrog a stupa in I.I.?”

“Got it. Let me see what I can do…” the voice on the comm trailed into silence.

“Heyo?” L’Thatcha prompted after a moment. “You get the code? Pop the lock?”

“I got the code,” the voice on the comm confirmed. “But I am not opening this file. FR333, this is not worth five thousand credits.”

L’Thatcha raised an eyebrow. “What, you want less?”

The voice on the comm hissed in irritation. “I’m not sure you can pay me enough to let you into this file.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ L’Thatcha scrambled. “Then just give me a name. I’m only looking for a name, and it’s for a good cause I kriffing swear by my three generations of freeborn ancestors. I’ll pay double. Triple.”

“50  _ thousand _ for this name. Send it in digipeggats, you know the service,” the voice spat and hung up.

L’Thatcha winced. Yikes. That was an expense she’d have to clear with her boss. She picked up her usual comm and called the Casting Director. “Uh hey boss, so I was reviewing subs today and picked up on a little mystery. Can I expense fifty thousand credits from the discretionary fund? No, no wait! Two words, Padmé Amidala! Okay, I’m holding....”

The Casting Director took five minutes to run to L’Thatcha’s office, one of the Executive Producers in tow. L’Thatcha buzzed in her seat as she set up the transfer with a Nar Shadda darknet cryptocurrency tumbler under the watchful eye of her boss and her boss’s boss.

“It sent right?” The Casting Director wrung his hands nervously. “This contact of yours better not run off with the money. The answer to the Amidala scandal. How will we even program it? An Empire Day special?”

The Executive Producer put a hand on L’Thacha’s shoulder. “If this is real, you are getting a bonus. A big, fat bonus.”

“It’s real.” L’Thatcha assured him confidently, though she wasn’t completely settled herself. She watched the credits convert and clear her account. She breathed a sigh of relief when her burner comm chimed with a text.

L’Thatcha picked up the tube and angled it so that the two men behind her could also see the small, single-line screen.

Oh. Oh  _ my _ .

The Executive Producer pulled his own commlink out of his jacket. “Maury. Drop everything right now. We’re about to hit the highest ratings in the history of the holonet.”


	4. Old Ben Kenobi

Obi-Wan felt it the moment Luke’s Force signature lifted off the planet. He cursed, dropping his mail order paint-by-numbers kit and hopping in a speeder for the Lars Homestead. 

Owen Lars answered the door by slamming it in Obi-Wan’s face.

“Owen! Owen!” Obi-Wan called again, knocking furiously in the scathing midday heat. “Where is Luke? Are you aware he has left Tatooine?”

The only answer Obi-Wan got was a muffled grunt and the sound of deadbolts locking. He felt another, softer presence join Owen behind the door, and after a volley of not-so-hushed whispers, the door slid open again.

“Ben,” Beru greeted wearily, hands folded primly over her roughspun skirt.

Obi-Wan took in the deep lines that etched her eyes and brows, not visible from the distance Obi-Wan usually kept when they crossed paths in town. The twin suns had been unkind to them all over the last fifteen years. The blooming desert rose who first took Luke from Obi-Wan’s arms, then just a babe swaddled in blankets that still held the medicinal tang of Polis Massa, had given way to a pragmatic and firm frontier matriarch. As was the way of Tatooine women.

“May I come in, Mrs. Lars?” Obi-Wan asked politely, clawing back his panic with the familiar routine of good manners.

Beru turned and descended, wordlessly leading the way across the courtyard to the dining table, heart of the homestead. Obi-Wan followed, and Owen fell in behind them, still radiating his displeasure. Inside the alcove, Yuma Darklighter was sitting at the table looking less than put-together. Obi-Wan skimmed the echoes of her emotions in the Force, and surmised that the local business magnate was just calming down from a panic attack of her own. 

Obi-Wan gave a short bow. “Hello Mrs. Darklighter. I am sorry for the poor timing.” 

Beru shook her head. “No, no, we were just talking about Luke and Biggs. Please take a seat, Ben.”

Yuma’s anxiety swelled again at the mention of the boys. She sank her head into her palm and tugged at her disheveled hair as Obi-Wan slid into the alcove across from her. “He was just _gone_ Beru _._ I can’t believe he didn’t leave a note. Did he think I wouldn’t miss him?”

Beru smiled with forced calm, and picked up the simple tea service in the center of the table as she gracefully sat down next to Yuma. “Well, Luke did. So everything is fine, love. You just have a nice cup of tea and relax.”

Owen chose to keep standing, leaning into the curve of the alcove where he could loom over the seated Obi-Wan. “Biggs and Luke ran off together with the crew of some holo show that wants to do an episode about his mother,” he explained gruffly.

Obi-Wan jolted in alarm. “ _What?”_

Owen dug his ear out irritably at the near-shriek. “It’s Maury Wars or some-such. Some scheme Biggs concocted, fool boy.”

“Owen,” Obi-Wan hissed, reflexively grabbing the teacup Beru pushed into his hands. It smelled divine. Truly, Beru was a domestic goddess. “We absolutely cannot let Luke go on holo in front of the whole galaxy. I thought we were in mutual understanding on this. The Empire absolutely cannot know who Luke’s father is.”

Owen uncrossed and recrossed his arms uncomfortably. “Not a lot to do about it now, is there Kenobi? Much as I’d like it, Luke won’t stay on this farm forever, and we all know it. Seems to me this is better than him running off to the Academy. ‘Sides, Luke knows better than to talk about his father to outsiders. This is about his _mother_. We don’t have a right to keep that knowledge from Luke. It’s as much his birthright as the sands of Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan was taken aback by the _conviction_ in Owen’s voice. That speech was the most words he’d ever heard the man string together in one go. Obi-Wan instinctively rebutted. “Yes, but his mother was...nevermind.”

Beru lowered the cup of tea she was sipping. “His mother was _what_ Ben? I’d love for you to finish that thought.”

“Yes.” Owen agreed curtly. “Maybe if we had some _transparency_ , things wouldn’t have reached this point.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, glancing at Yuma. “I really cannot. Believe me, the fewer who know, the safer. You have to trust that I only have the wellbeing of everyone on this planet in mind.”

Yuma seemed unimpressed by Ob-wan’s attempt to pin her as the cause for his high-handed reticence. “Tough luck, neither of the kids is answering their comm,” she reminded. “The only way to stop them now is to go after them, and even I don’t have a ship for that. Do _you?”_

Obi-Wan set down his teacup with a heavy clink. “Thank you for your hospitality, Beru. Owen. It seems I should be on my way.”

* * *

Obi wan headed into Mos Eisley and booked a trip to Corellia with a Bothan smuggler. As a dense and populated core world, it was almost impossible for Obi-Wan to pick out Luke’s Force signature from the chaotic thrum of Corellia the way he could monitor the boy across the vast expanse of Tatooine. After disembarking and decontaminating the shed fur stuck on his cloak, taking a wrong turn in Coronet, breaking into an empty hotel room, and terrifying a skytaxi droid on the way to Kor Vella, Obi-Wan finally stood in front of the Maury Wars studio. 

“I’m sorry sir, but the Maury Wars audience is closed. They’ve been taping for an hour. If you get in line now, you can still make it in for Jerry: Space Judge.”

An overweight woman with a bob cut booed them loudly from the head of the long, long line. “Hey! Hey! Bag that cutter! Guard, you suck!”

Obi-Wan ignored the heckler and waved his hand in front of the security guard’s face. “I’m a crew member.”

The guard zoned out briefly, but his eyes quickly focused and narrowed in on Obi-Wan’s faded and worn-out robes. “Oh yeah, where’s your ID?”

Obi-Wan irritatedly waved his hand in front of the guard again, “You don’t need to see my ID.”

“No, I really do.” The guard retorted. He brought a short-range radio to his lips. “Ronal for Jimbo, we have a _very enthusiastic fan_ at the main entrance, over.”

The radio crackled. “10-4 Ronal, is that a code red? Over.”

The security guard raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. “Code yellow. It’s an elderly man in bathrobes. Keeps waving his hand in my face and says he’s crew. Over.”

“Copy that. We’ll send someone your way. Over.”

Obi-Wan gave the guard an icy glare before he spun and walked away. Bathrobes! So his wardrobe took a beating on Tatooine. It used to be that humble robes were a mark of stately class. None of this Imperial nonsense with the starched collars and the puffy pants.

“I’m not an old man” Obi-Wan grumbled as he dodged the crowd and slipped into an alley. He used a mild Force assist to leap onto a dumpster with a soft clang. “I’m _dignified.”_

A tooka pooked its head out from a pile of cardboard trash and yowled. 

“Hush you,” Obi-Wan scolded. “Nobility is in the soul.” He sized up the distance to the fire escape and regretted what this was going to do to his knees.

_Hup!_

Obi-Wan clung to the fire escape and climbed up another story. The fire door wouldn’t open, but he hopped to a ledge and carefully picked his way to a window that looked in on a quiet corner of the lobby atrium. Obi-Wan made quick work of the glass with his lightsaber and dropped through the ceiling into an elegant crouch.

_Ow ow ow ow ow._

Obi-Wan straightened with an audible crack and a wince. Perhaps he should paint less and stretch more if he made it out of here with Luke intact.

Inside the empty lobby, a live holofeed played the current taping. Luke and Biggs sat squeezed together in the center, with a man Obi-Wan assumed was “Maury” seated in a chair to their right. Luke looked healthy and well, to Obi-Wan’s immense consolation. More concerning was Pooja Naberrie, projected on a screen from some other room. The poor girl looked more flustered than any of the few times Obi-Wan had glimpsed her on an Imperial senate broadcast.

“But do you believe, Senator Naberrie, that this boy is your cousin?” Maury asked leadingly.

Pooja frowned, struggling to hide her discomfort at being pressed about such a topic in front of a galactic audience. “Well Maury, it’s certainly possible, but I have no idea how he might be connected.”

“You have no idea who the mother could be?” Maury confirmed.

“No Maury. We track our genealogy very closely on Naboo. It’s rare to give birth off-planet, and to not acknowledge a child is _unthinkable_. It’s our culture.” 

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had been said yet that couldn’t be smoothed over, but he couldn’t shake a rising feeling of inevitable doom. Could he make it in time? He bounded down a hallway, trusting to the Force.

“Well then let’s stop waiting around for mynocks shall we?” said Maury, his face grinning from the wall screens that seemed to pop up in front of Obi-Wan at every turn.

Kriff! 

Maury picked up a manilla colored envelope from his side table and waved it at the audience before pulling out a flimsi and reading from it officiously. “In the case of Luke Lars, fifteen years old and raised on Tatooine, the mystery mother is... _Padmé Amidala!”_

Triple kriff!

Obi-Wan could only watch the trainwreck unfold as Pooja was ushered off the backstage couch and onto the main set. Maury tried to regain control of the crowd as Pooja, looking shell-shocked, sat down to the far left, leaving an empty seat between herself and Luke. Obi-Wan could practically see the moment the full picture clicked for her as she stared at Luke’s dark blond hair and memorable blue eyes. Her mouth made a little ‘o’ before she squashed it into a thin grim line.

Obi-Wan beat back the despair clawing through the Force and focused on his task. He ignored the screens, ducking production staff and prowling his way closer to backstage. The Force was like a churning maw now, at once too eager and too violent. It kept slipping away, but Obi-Wan was out of time to contemplate whether it was his own fear projecting, or some other disturbance.

On the holo, Pooja resigned herself to Maury’s grilling about Padmé’s pregnancy, and the famous funeral. Even in his distraction Obi-Wan admired her ability to deflect with the ironclad alibis of, “I was a child” and “I don’t know.” Truly, she was a politician through and through. 

Maury quickly gave up on Pooja and turned to Luke and Biggs to talk about Luke’s father, Anakin Lars the freed slave who left home for a life as a spacer. Did any of that sound familiar to the Senator? No, not at all, Pooja denied. Pooja’s Aunt cared very much about abolishing slavery in Hutt space, but as far as Pooja knew, she had never been to Tatooine. Pooja was just a child after all.

Aha! Obi-Wan discovered a promising door: crew only. He sensed an approaching life form and, as the door swung open, bagged the stagehand over the head and dragged him to a closet Obi-Wan found a few minutes back. 

“I’ll take that. You’re welcome.” Obi-Wan politely thanked the unconscious man as he lifted a lanyard with an ID and code cylinder from his neck. He locked the closet and slipped in through the crew exit.

Behind the door, a group of grips gathered around a table of refreshments. Obi-Wan pocketed a bagel and some cookies as Maury’s voice filtered through from the stage. Who knows when he’d next get food after making a run with Luke. Nearby, Obi-Wan spotted the backstage couch Pooja was sitting on earlier. It was now occupied by a grey-haired couple Obi-Wan didn’t recognize. 

“Our nephew Rush was the only man Senator Amidala ever loved in her life.” The woman sniffled dramatically to the camera, dabbing at mock tears with a gold-embroidered handkerchief. “The whole galaxy knows this. Who _else_ would Padmé Amidala choose to make a baby with? She must have been looking for some way to honor his memory, the poor dear.”

“That’s a damn conspiracy theory!” Pooja Nabarrie interrupted from the main set. “Maury, that’s a lie. That’s such a lie.”

Obi-Wan spotted a catwalk that led to the front side. He waited for a moment no crew members were looking, then clambered up a light rigging. Meanwhile the bickering continued below.

“It seems you weren’t a fan of Rush Clovis, Senator?” Maury probed.

“I-” Pooja started.

The man on the couch spoke up for the first time. “See Maury, this is what Meresh and I always feared. Amidala was a beauty, but she was too hot-tempered. It’s the Naboo climate I fear. We promise to take Luke to our beautiful ice world Scipio and give him only the best the Banking Clan can offer. The Muun are the only ones who can correct his education now and set him on a _proper_ career path.”

“What!” Biggs yelped. “What’s wrong joining the Navy?”

“Just that!” Meresh Clovis, the woman, waved. “The poor child has been exposed to so many _lowborn_ influences. Pilots and _Hutts_ really. We will make sure he associates with the sons of _real_ money. Not...whatever you are.”

“Hey! You can’t talk about Biggs like that!” Luke protested over the audience’s booes. “And I am not moving to an ice world.”

“Maury, this is just ridiculous.” Pooja sniffed. “My aunt Padmé would never choose to procreate with these people. I can’t believe we are entertaining this.”

Meresh Clovis snarled, pointing. ”Well how would you know? How would you know? You say you don’t know anything, so how would you know?”

Pooja heated up, “What I _know_ is that Rush Clovis was a duplicitous piece of scum, and even if you _were_ Luke’s relatives the Naberries would never let you near him. I honestly can’t think of a worse possible sperm donor!”

“Cut the phobium!” Meresh Clovis yelled back.

The stage devolved into incoherent shouting. As Obi-Wan tensely crept out over the audience, he pondered how to extract Luke safely. Cut the lights? No. Luke wasn’t trained. The boy would be as blind as the civilians. Oh, this type of ‘wing it’ plan was exactly when he missed Anakin the most.

Maury regained control below, doing a lap of the stage to settle the audience. He returned to his seat and picked up a second manilla envelope. “Settle down! The answers are all right here! Luke, does this couple feel like family to you?” 

“No.” Luke, seethed, peeved. “I don’t feel anything for them.”

“Not a thing?” Maury checked.

“Not a thing.” Luke confirmed, certain.

“Well then the Force must be with you because...Meresh and Ravinish Clovis, your nephew Rush is _not_ the father.”

“Ohh!” Biggs cheered, “ _Goodbye!_ ”

Meresh Clovis turned beet red in meltdown. “No! It’s a mistake! That ungrateful hussy Amidala!” she shrieked. The Clovis couple were hustled off the couch and off the screen. Biggs shook a fist at their departing backs. Even Pooja waved her hand in a silent, smug ‘bye bye.’

Luke turned back to the audience. He looked drained and exhausted. “Mister Maury sir, I told you. My father was a freed slave who became a spacer. I know who he was, and I’m proud. Thanks for helping me find the Naberries, and my mom’s name, but we don’t need to do this anymore.” 

_That’s as good a cue as ever_ , Obi-Wan thought. He pulled his lightsaber and readied himself to jump. 

“Well hold on, not so fast.” Maury shifted forward, pulling a _third_ envelope from behind his seat and holding it up to the enthralled audience. “We have a special surprise, Luke. If I told you your biological father was still alive, and here today, would you want to meet him?”

And that’s when Obi-Wan felt it. _No._

He had been so focused on Luke that he missed the black hole that was seething deep inside the building. He’d bundled it into his own unease and adrenaline, ignored the dark, misread the _fear_ backstage and in the hallways.

 _No. No. Noooo._ Obi-Wan silently cried. From his perch atop the catwalk he could see the hulking black shadow making its way through the backstage.

Luke, confused, said, “Sure but --”

“Right now?” Maury cut him off.

“Of course. But my father was --” 

Darth Vader stormed onto the set. 

Maury hastily pulled the flimsi from the final envelope and waved it to the sky. “Luke Lars, meet your _real_ biological father...the supreme commander of the Empire...Darth Vader!” 

The audience burst into a roar, while Obi-Wan screamed miserably inside his head. 


	5. Luke Skywalker

Luke’s world was rocked three times. First, when Maury told him his mother was a  _ queen.  _ Second, when the presenter announced that his real father was Darth Vader. Luke was still processing this massive shift in identity when Old Ben-kriffing-Kenobi dropped from the stage lights waving some kind of lightsword, and the furniture turned into magical arial projectiles.

“Biggs, get Maury off the stage!” Luke shouted as the chair next to him  _ levitated _ and threw itself at Old Ben. Biggs jumped to cover the elderly show host while Luke rushed to help Senator Naberrie. Pooja. His cousin.

“Kriff kriff kriff,” Pooja was cursing. They both ducked as part of the stage rent itself loose and flew over their heads. Pooja tripped on her heavy brocade cloak, and Luke grabbed her arm to pull her to her feet. He helped her limp to safety backstage and seized the Pantoran stage manager’s shirt.

“Where’s the emergency exit?” Luke shouted over the chaos.

The terrified stage manager pointed further backstage. “Past the green room at the end of the hall, take the stairs all the way to the bottom. It exits straight onto the backlot.”

A burly brown-skinned woman materialized next to Pooja, along with a pale man. “Senator!” The woman cried, rushing to support Pooja.

“Colonel Panaka, Private Dharker.” Pooja greeted. “We must flee at once. Be prepared to cover us.”

Pvt. Dharker drew his blaster and moved to shield both Luke and Pooja. 

“Bodyguards?” Luke asked, wide-eyed. 

“Royal Naboo Security Force, kid,” the man answered.

Luke let go of Pooja’s other arm. “Wizard. Take good care of her - she’s my cousin,” he instructed seriously. He turned back towards the set, but Pooja caught his hand and squeezed tight. 

“Don’t!” Poojo drew Luke closer, eyes wide. She hissed in a low voice, “Luke, you must come with me right now. This might be your only chance to escape Vader.” 

Luke pulled back, shocked by her vehemence. He refused to leave without Biggs, and he didn’t feel good about abandoning Old Ben either. He barely knew the man, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see Old Ben die. Even if he turned out to be an  _ actual  _ evil wizard who stalked him all the way from Tatooine.

“We gotta get Biggs,” Luke insisted, “and what about Mr. Kenobi?”

Pooja’s gaze softened. “Oh sweetie. You’ll have to trust that your friend will be fine. And I’m sure the General would rather have you disappear with me. That’s why he’s fighting. He’s fighting so you can run from Vader.”

Luke was so confused. “But  _ why?  _ Why do I have to run from Darth Vader? If I run now, then what happens next?”

“You run again,” Pooja said grimly. “And again, and again. You keep running forever so Darth Vader doesn’t find you.”

Luke couldn't imagine it. He was only fifteen. What would it like to be running _forever_? A life where he had _no_ family -- not Biggs, not the Lars’, not his newfound cousin from Naboo, and not even the memory of Grandma Shmi and Anakin Skywalker. Luke came to one conclusion. As soon as he made the decision, he somehow knew it was the right thing to do. He let go of Pooja’s hand with a sad smile. 

“If Darth Vader is really my father, then I’m not leaving him,” Luke declared. He turned his back on Pooja and returned to the set. 

“Luke!” Pooja called powerlessly. 

On stage, Old Ben and Darth Vader were still locked in epic battle. The set was trashed, with busted plasterboard and sparking electronics littering the stage like apocalyptic rubble.

“Where’s your lightsaber Darth?” Obi-Wan needled, slicing another chair up and coincidentally setting the upholstery on fire. “I see losing your other arm didn’t help you keep better hold of it.” 

“I don’t need it.” Vader growled. He manipulated a length of stage curtain to strangle Obi-Wan like a snake. “You’ve grown weak, old man.” 

Obi-Wan cut his way free in a twirl of blue light, dodging another volley of smouldering durasteel projectiles. “And  _ you’re _ on life support!”

Luke covered his head and darted to Biggs, who was sheltering behind a massive holocam rig with Maury. Biggs grabbed Luke and hugged him tight, before shaking him.

“You beautiful fool!” Biggs yelled, “Why did you come back over here?”

Luke’s head bobbed like a rag doll, “I came to hee-eee-eeelp!”

“Whoever talked me into surprising Darth Vader on my show is  _ fired! _ ” Maury shouted miserably, hunched over and somehow still clutching the flimsi with Luke’s paternity test results.

The camera operator looked down at the show host from his seat in the holocam rig. “Should I cut the feed?”

Maury swatted the camera operator’s leg with the flimsi. “No, are you crazy? Keep rolling!”

Up on the stage, Vader closed in on Old Ben. The wizard sliced off part of the dark lord’s cape, but Darth Vader spun with a surprise high kick and disarmed Old Ben. He summoned and caught the lightsaber as Old Ben fell to his knees.

“Not so stiff now!” Vader gloated, hovering the saber over Ben’s neck.

Old Ben smirked in the face of death, “Don’t even lie, that kick was a bitch on your thighs. I can feel your pain in the Force.” 

“Shut up!” Vader snapped. He started to bring the lightsaber down, but Old Ben reached into his pocket sleeve and threw a bagel and a handful of crushed cookies at the dark lord. The bread and crumbs bounced uselessly off of Vader’s armor, but both fighters paused at the absurdity of the wizard’s last gambit.

Suddenly a speeding ball of golden mass plowed into Vader’s side. Vader lost his breath with the impact. “Oomph!”

“STOOOP!” Luke cried, bowling over Darth Vader with something between a tackle and a hug. The massive mechanical monster barely moved back a centimeter, but Luke kept trying to push, feet skidding uselessly on the singed carpet floor. “Please stop fighting. Please don’t kill anyone! Father!”

Vader looked down at the limpet on his waist. Luke stared back. He stared so hard that he could almost see Darth Vader’s eyes behind the red beetle-like lenses.

“What did you call me?” Vader asked. His voice was deep and menacing, but mostly Luke detected that Vader was shocked and confused _. _

Luke knew the feeling well. Luke, too, was also very shocked and confused about all this. But that was okay, as long as nobody died they could figure it out together.

“Father.” Luke said, definitively.

Vader lowered the lightsaber. “My...son,” he replied tentatively. 

He roughly clasped an arm around Luke’s shoulder, completing the hug. Luke was so short he was almost swallowed by Darth Vader’s cape.

Maury bounded up on stage, clapping. He put himself between the camera and the strange sight of a dark lord gingerly embracing a teenager, and started his wrap-up spiel. “Well! Over the last hour we’ve seen a  _ very  _ shocking maternity and paternity story. If you need your own maternity or paternity test, call us at 1-866-99-MAURY, or visit us on the holonet at Maury.com and send us a message. 

I want to thank all of my guests for being here today, I want to thank everybody who watches at home everyday, I want to  _ especially  _ thank our security team for evacuating our live studio audience. So thank you! You’re the BEST! Until next time, galaxy!”

Maury spread his arms triumphantly to the smattering applause of the remaining crew. Luke drew back from Darth Vader with a nervous chuckle.

“Um, so what now?” Luke asked.

“I...have no idea.” Darth Vader replied, looking at the boy in wonder.

Luke tugged at his father’s tattered cape, smiling. “How about we start with telling me about my mother?”


	6. Outtakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloop.

**BLOOP**

Maury spread his arms triumphantly to the smattering applause of the remaining crew. Luke drew back from Darth Vader with a nervous chuckle.

“Um, so what now?” Luke asked.

“I...have no idea.” Darth Vader replied, looking at the boy in wonder.

Biggs, walking up carefully like a Jawa skirting a Krayt dragon, nudged Obi-Wan on the floor with his toe. 

“Hey, are you _really_ a wizard?” Biggs asked with morbid curiosity. “I thought Fixer just said that because you’re ancient, but I guess you really are a Wizard huh?”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands. “Oh please. I’m only 53!”

  
  


**BLOOP**

Maury spread his arms triumphantly to the smattering applause of the remaining crew. Luke drew back from Darth Vader with a nervous chuckle.

“Um, so what now?” Luke asked.

“I...have no idea.” Darth Vader replied, looking at the boy in wonder.

Biggs, walking up carefully like a Jawa skirting a Krayt dragon, nudged Obi-Wan on the floor with his toe. 

“Hey, are you _really_ a wizard?” Biggs asked with morbid curiosity. “I thought Fixer just said that because you’re ancient, but I guess you really are a Wizard huh?”

Obi-Wan looked to Vader and chuckled weakly. “You know that Clovis woman was right about one thing. Imperial education is terrible. The galaxy is _doomed.”_

  
  


**BLOOP**

Maury spread his arms triumphantly to the smattering applause of the remaining crew. Luke drew back from Darth Vader with a nervous chuckle.

“Um, so what now?” Luke asked.

“I...have no idea.” Darth Vader replied, looking at the boy in wonder.

Biggs, walking up carefully like a Jawa skirting a Krayt dragon, nudged Obi-Wan on the floor with his toe. 

“Hey, are you _really_ a wizard?” Biggs asked with morbid curiosity. “I thought Fixer just said that because you’re ancient, but I guess you really are a Wizard huh?”

Obi-Wan flopped on his back, staring at the ruined light rigging. “That’s it. I’m done. Just send me into the Force now, yeesh.”

“Drama queen,” Biggs rolled his eyes. He kicked the bagel that assaulted the dark lord. It flew off the stage and punched a hole in the teetering faux brick backdrop. “Ha! I knew those things were stale.”

The scenery flat began to wobble. It toppled with a crash and a poof of dust, revealing a quaking Zeltron PA clutching Vader's silver lightsaber to her chest.

# ⊂(⊙д⊙)つ

"Meep!" she whimpered.


End file.
